Page 21 of Seth’s Doll

I smile.

I genuinely smile.

The woman staring back at me might not look exactly like the intimacy companion I felt up at my store, but she does look… sexy as hell.

Aside from the hair, makeup, and schoolgirl attire, the shoes do things for my body I’ve never seen before. At the mall, I’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and I just made sure the heels fit comfortably enough I could walk and then would be able to dance in them while holding onto the pole. But looking at my reflection in the over-the-top Mary Janes now, I can’t help but admire the way my legs look a mile long, especially paired with the thigh-high socks that leave a few inches of skin exposed between the top pink stripe and the bottom of my pleated miniskirt.

I take a couple baby steps to turn to the side, and the shoes have somehow changed my posture. My butt seems like it’s been lifted, the hem of the skirt hanging in a way that’s a sexy invitation to reach beneath it and grab a handful. My back is arched, and the scientist in me does a quick calculation to figure out it’s my body’s way of countering the extra height beneath my heels that’s higher than that beneath my toes. There’s a platform, yes, but my heels are still elevated more than the balls of my feet, which causes my body to naturally situate itself to stay upright. Meaning, booty out and lower back swayed.

And it looks damn good.

My waist may not be as tiny around as the doll’s, but the miniskirt’s waistband sits right above my belly button, accentuating the smallest part before the pleated fabric gently flares. The two-inch band is tight but not enough to make anything bulge above it, showing just a hint of skin between it and the knotted shirt. When I look down at my body instead of in the reflection, my small breasts look admittedly pretty inside the unlined lace cups of the bra, and I glance up once more, then dip into one of the moves Crystal taught me.

“Oh yeah. Décolletage on point,” I say softly, then stand up straight again. “But something is missing.” My brow furrows, tilting my head to figure out what the heck I’ve forgotten. And then it hits me. “Oh shit!” I open the zipper of the inner pocket of my bag and pull out my collar for the evening. This one isn’t my official collar, just meant for play, but since the charm from my formal one is on a lobster claw clasp, I was able to attach it the silver ring in the center of this pink-and-black leather choker that buckles at the back of my neck. I adjust it so the circular charm with a numeral 7 in the middle, surrounded by the words Mystical, Wisdom, and Divinity, is centered at my throat.

With a final onceover, I give myself a surprising but confident nod of approval, and then I step back over to the right side of the mirror and touch the glowing button to turn off its bright light.

I turn around and spot the box the intimacy companion was delivered in at my store. It’s been set up in the corner of the room beneath the spotlight that’s normally shining down on a lockable cage with a mattress on top of it, which was removed for tonight’s scene. I’ve seen it in use a few times. The most startling had been a woman and two men engaged in loud, boisterous sex atop the mattress, while a man who had his penis locked in a little cage of its own kneeled on his spread knees, watching what was happening above him in the mirror now behind me.

After seeing that on a trip to the restroom, since they left the curtain wide open—but hooked the velvet rope across the entryway, which meant they wanted to be watched but not joined—and had a small crowd watching outside the playroom, I returned to the booth our group was hanging out in. I definitely had to have Seven explain what was going on in the scene, then immediately had Doc break down the psychology of it for me, because I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I learned a whole new vocabulary that night, including but not limited to chastity cage, cuckold, hotwife, vixen, and bull.

Instantly understanding that was a kinky path I would never walk in this lifetime.

But I’d never yuck anyone else’s yum, so good for them.

Now though, the spotlight is shining down on my redecorated, life-size box. The addition I made in the backroom of my store that changed SEX DOLL to SETH’S DOLL is still there, now framed in hearts and arrows pointing at it I drew yesterday before I dropped it off at Corbin and Vi’s house. And I see Vi must’ve added silver holographic stickers to make the arrows stand out even more, making them glimmer under the light. It does wonders to draw the eye exactly where I want Seven’s when he walks into the playroom. On the other flap of the box, I had written Happy Birthday in huge letters from bottom to top, which she also outlined in the shiny stickers.

On the very top of the six-foot tall box is an outrageously large hot-pink bow that perfectly matches the packaging tape I left around the edges. From one of its curled ribbons hangs an oversized card I made him, containing a plastic box that I know will add a little something special for the tech nerd who occupies the same body as an ultra-kinky former sadist.

So there’s no way my genius husband will misunderstand the assignment.

Giddy now, still nervous but my excitement surpassing it, I reach back to the switch on the wall that will turn on the red light outside Playroom 2, indicating it’s in use. With the club still mostly dark, I’m positive Seven sees it the second I flip it and starts counting down from sixty. So I hurry as fast but safely as I can in the monstrously high heels over to the cardboard box, opening the flaps, stepping inside, snatching the index card off the interior wall I taped it to, then using the small finger-width holes to pull them closed. Yesterday, I stabbed through the package with scissors when I realized I couldn’t pull the darn flaps all the way shut from the inside while I tested if I’d fit with these shoes on. And in this moment, I’m grateful for the height the holes landed—a happy accident that gives me the perfect view of the second my Master enters the room.

His eyes immediately land on the glistening stripper pole, since that’s what’s straight ahead when one opens the curtain. But seeing I’m not over there, his brow furrows slightly until they come to the corner I’m hidden in. I love that we’re here without having to wear masks, because I can see the sexy smirk on his face before he turns and attaches the velvet curtain to the hook on the wall that will ensure it stays shut.

But when he faces inside once again and starts slowly approaching the giant present, my stomach flips, and I fight the urge to burst out of the box and tell him “never mind!” I suddenly feel like prey caught in a trap, watching as a predator prowls toward me licking its chops, even as Seven’s mouth stays in its sensual smile.

I can’t run. I never fight. So my fear instincts choose what it always does, and I freeze.

But this time, I’m conscious of it. I was counting on it. And I remember this is all part of the plan.

I still sense the fear inside me, the choked feeling petrifying my body in place. Yet with great effort, I take a deep breath and let it out quiet and slow, relaxing just enough to arrange my face into the expression I practiced in my bathroom mirror every chance I got the past few days. With one last glance through the tiny peephole, as my husband—my delicious Dom—comes to stand right in front of the box I’m inside, I then cast my gaze downward, turning myself into the perfectly obedient, respectful submissive I dream to be.

CHAPTER 12

Seven

What the—?

When I pulled open the curtain just enough to step through, I spotted a new addition to my favorite playroom. A stripper pole, gold instead of the more common chrome, and behind the padded play table in the center of the room, I can make out the top of what must be a chair. The perfect set-up for enjoying a private dance. But one thing is missing.

My tiny dancer.

Out the corner of my eye, something else shiny and glistening beneath a spotlight pulls my attention. It takes a split second for my mind to catch up with what I’m seeing, because for the past decade, a custom-welded cage bed has taken up that corner of this room. But instead, a box nearly as tall as me with a bright pink bow on top is in its place.

My stomach drops to my balls in disappointment, but I school my features, in case Twyla is watching me. My first thought is that she’s given me what I feared she might—one of the sex dolls she ordered. She could be hidden somewhere in the room, the dim lighting causing different equipment and apparatuses to cast shadows in all sorts of places in the large space.

As I turn to hook the curtain closed, I glimpse her clothes she had been wearing scattered on the floor, and her toiletries bag and tote are on top of the trunk meant to hold her belongings during a scene. A wicked smile tugs my lips as I think about punishing my little sub for overlooking one of the simplest tasks she’s supposed to complete every single time we play. But remembering how nervous and hurried she was before she left my side, I might take it easy on her. This time.

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